Riding a bus in San Francisco I saw stars, when an old woman whacked me on the back of the head with something hard and heavy in a grocery bag. She was having some kind of episode, yelling that I had stolen from her, even though I just sat down on the bus, fresh off the Amtrak on my first trip to San Fran,. I didn’t…

Wow, Reebok really doesn’t beat around the bush.

To them the wild ram embodies the mystery and magic of the mountains...

I also am an old. And you are very wrong. 

My sister has an adopted son a different skin color than her. She deals with shit all the time. How much longer until all the baby boomers die off?

Maybe we can trick her into moving back to Odessa by pointing out how many Caucasians live there.

Slight counterpoint: their policies don’t fail, they do exactly what they are meant to do, which is to continue the consolidation of wealth and power.

She thought queso was spanish for cassarole. 

Can’t really blame them, I wouldn’t want a White House invite either.

“I was only called Coonman because of an incident involving raccoons and some garbage cans outside of my apartment. I will admit I was in my Shaft afro and blackface at the time of the raccoon incident, but that had nothing to do with the nickname...”

The rich and powerful distrust anyone they know can’t be bought. 

You both bring up good points. Now I am undecided on how to enact my St. Louis hatred.

I’m 100% positive that when Jared asked for his future Orange-in-law’s permission to marry his (sickeningly) beloved daughter, it went down exactly like this:

Makes you wish for a La Guillotine.

I could live a month or two off of it. But then I’d be poor again with my 6 figures. Great conversation, thanks.

Both sides hate him? Crap, now I’m going to have to buy $100 in Starbucks and post video of myself pouring it all out onto my burned up Nikes, to own the...centrist billionaires.

That’s a stupid answer. So you think I’m proletariat because I collect a wage. That’s fine, but “proletariat” 150 years ago is not the same as “poor” today.

Huh? How is it possible that I am poor? I sell my labor for a 6-figure wage.

I wonder how being poor in today’s world differs from previous generations’ poor. It seems to me to be night-and-day different. Like my parents grew up kind of poor (2 parents + 7 kids in a 3 bedroom apartment), but also I don’t think they ever couldn’t pay their bills. There were less bills back then too, and they…

It would have to be small white children to work.